


Heart

by queenofhell_proserpina



Category: Lost Boys (1987)
Genre: Codependency, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-25 01:18:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4941154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofhell_proserpina/pseuds/queenofhell_proserpina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They share a room, and at night they can hear each other's hearts beating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart

It's nighttime and just too fucking dark for this, too dark for anything except sleep and reading comics with a flashlight. The parental units forgot to pay the electric bill again, and the moon isn’t visible outside their bedroom window so there aren’t even shadows, it's all just darkness. 

Alan’s eyes adjust, but not fast enough, so the hand on his shoulder is a shock and he jumps. Even in the dark, where everything is strange and unfamiliar, Edgar’s voice is still the same comfortable, stupid growl that it usually is. “Hey, man, chill. It's just me.”

Alan puts his hand over the one on his shoulder, just to ground himself, to tell him where he is. Its Edgar’s hand; he can recognize the calluses, the ragged nails, the new cut on the index finger, barely scabbed over where the knife slipped while Edgar was carving a stake. He turns until he’s pretty sure he’s facing Edgar. “Do we always have to do this in the dark, Edgar? I can’t see my own fucking hand.” And he can’t, but he can feel Edgar’s. “Lets just wait til the lights come back on.”

“That could be days. Besides, you ever seen a vampire in the sun?”

“No, but—”

“Vampires hate the light, Alan. If a vampire attacks you in the middle of the night, or during a blackout, or when Mom and Dad don’t pay the bills, don’t you want to know what to do?” His other hand comes up, on Alan’s other shoulder. 

Alan pauses. Breathes, and tries to make out Edgar’s features. It doesn’t work. “I thought vampires couldn’t come in unless you invite them,” he says finally.

Edgar makes a derisive noise, takes his hands away from Alan and wanders off to parts unknown. “You think they know who to invite in and who to spray with holy water?” he sneers, obviously in the direction of their parents, comatose in a haze of pot smoke in the living room. 

“Okay,” Alan says, rolling his eyes. Edgar’s hand comes back, this time missing Alan’s shoulder and landing on his cheek. Alan twitches at the contact, but Edgar doesn’t move his hand. “Am I the vampire or the victim?” Like he even has to ask. 

“The victim.” Alan can see teeth, gleaming white in the dark as Edgar smiles. “Get on the bed.”

“Okay.” When he trips over something on the way, Edgar snickers reassuringly in the darkness, breaking the somber mood. “Fuck you,” Alan says, but he’s laughing. It feels normal again—as normal as life with Edgar ever does, anyway. 

“Hey, buddy, that was your army jacket you just tripped over, so don’t go cursing at me.”

“How do you know?” Alan sits up, peering through the darkness for a glimpse of Edgar. “I can’t see shit.”

“Shut up and lie down, Alan.”

He does. On his back, in the dark, and wearing just boxer shorts in the summer heat, he feels stupidly vulnerable. He tightens his hand around his stake and waits for Edgar to attack him.

It doesn’t take long—Edgar is nothing if not impatient. The bed dips down just slightly and then Edgar is straddling him. Always so fucking dramatic, like a vampire’s gonna try to hump him in the middle of a blackout. This close, Alan can see parts of Edgar’s face, the sheen of his eyes and his teeth, the curves of his cheeks and chin. He can smell Edgar’s unwashed hair, feel the heat radiating off him. 

Their parents are too fucking cheap—okay, broke—to buy them separate beds, so Edgar’s closeness and warmth aren’t exactly alien. Lately, though, their contact’s been strangely charged, like the air before an electric storm. Something’s going to happen, soon, a fight or something else, some release of tension. There’s always a flood of dead and missing in the summer, like the heat makes the vamps extra-hungry or something, and this summer Edgar’s been on him all the time, training him, always playing vampire. 

When they were kids, it was just a game. _I’m the vampire, you’re the victim_ , always the same roles. Now they’re fifteen, and they know the vampires are real. It's not a game anymore. 

Not to Edgar, anyway. Now it's practice.

Alan can feel Edgar’s breath on his neck, so he brings the stake up quick, the tip against Edgar’s bare chest. Even though he’s human, this could still kill him. The stake would break through his chest cavity all the same, if he pushed down too quickly. If Alan pushed up. Edgar doesn’t do anything, just stays crouched rigidly above him, so Alan presses the stake even harder into his chest.

“No, don’t,” Edgar says quietly, hands sliding to Alan’s wrists, pushing them flat against the bed. “Not this time. Just…let me.”

At first, Alan doesn’t know what he means. But then lips touch his neck, and Edgar’s body slides down on top of his, nipple to nipple, cock to cock. Edgar’s half-hard—and its not like that’s never happened before, either. They share a bed, so they’ve woken up with hard-ons pressed against each other’s thighs before, jerked off with their backs to each other and eyes closed, no big thing, but this. This is different. They’re not ignoring each other this time. 

Alan tries to gasp, but it's cut off by the teeth in his neck.

Normal teeth, he realizes after a moment, human teeth. Edgar is biting his neck but he’s not a vampire. Vampires are cold to the touch, Alan knows that from a thousand comics and books and movies, and Edgar’s skin is so hot that Alan’s afraid it will burn him. Besides, this is Edgar. Alan would know if he was a vampire. In fact, that would make things simpler. Whatever’s happening instead is at least a thousand times more complicated.

“Edgar,” he says, and his voice is hoarser than he’d like it to be. “What the fuck?”

Edgar stops biting; he sucks, and then messily licks the abused flesh, and then there’s just lips resting against Alan’s neck. When Edgar speaks, Alan can feel it vibrate in his skin. “Come on, Alan, just let me. I know you want to, I can feel it.” When he rubs his hips against Alan’s, they both groan. 

“Don’t…”

“Invite me in,” Edgar says, low and quiet, like they’re still playing vampire, and it's all so fucked up.

Alan does his best to pull away, but it's half-hearted. Edgar is stronger than him, always has been. Besides, they share a bedroom, a house, a bloodline. They can’t ever get away from each other. “You're my brother.”

Edgar snorts. “That’s bullshit and you know it. You really think they’re our parents? We don’t look anything like each other, Alan, we could be fucking strangers for all we know.”

Of course, they both know it’s a lie. They probably have different dads, sure, or maybe even different moms—Mom and Dad aren’t married, and they aren’t real good at that monogamy thing, either—but they definitely have at least a parent in common. Whether that parent is Mom or Dad, or either of them, is debatable.

They’ve been told all their lives that they’re twins, but Edgar is so light and Alan so dark, and they’ve never really looked like each other. They like it, though. They used to say that they were better than brothers, closer than brothers. They even cut their fingers and shared blood when they were eleven, mixing it and then sucking it off each other’s fingers, dubbing themselves the Frog Brothers. As they get older, though, Alan can see the similarities in their features, can catch the curve of his chin and the shape of his nose in Edgar’s face.

Edgar is Edgar though, and he doesn’t give a shit. “And what does it matter, anyway? The world is so fucked up that this? It doesn’t matter. Not to anyone but us.”

Alan doesn’t know what to say to that. Edgar has a fucking point—in a world where they’ll probably get sucked dry by the undead before ever kissing a girl, what the hell is normal?

“Besides. There’s never going to be anyone for me but you. And there’ll never be anyone for you but me. You know that.” Edgar’s voice is so low, so fucking tender, and all Alan can think of is holding the stake to Edgar’s chest. 

Edgar’s always the vampire, and Alan’s always the victim. It's always Alan with a stake to Edgar’s chest, ready to strike. Always Edgar on top of Alan, in case their parents walk in. If anything went wrong, Edgar would be hurt, Edgar’s the one made vulnerable.

Alan rests his hand on Edgar’s shoulder, then slides it slowly down Edgar’s chest to his flat unmuscled stomach, feeling his soft hot skin. By the time he gets his hand inside Edgar’s loose shorts, they’re both hard, peering through the darkness into each other’s eyes without blinking. 

He wraps his hand around Edgar’s cock, and it feels just like holding his heart, thick with blood and as vulnerable as a vampire in daylight.


End file.
